James Norrington: Rogue Pirate Hunter
by Cherusha
Summary: A parody of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  With Sparringtonness and anachronisms, ahoy!


**James Norrington: Rogue Pirate Hunter**  
(Because 'Norrington the Pirate Slayer' is a just little too close to 'Norrington the Pirate _Layer'_ and James Norrington would certainly NOT have biblical relations with any pirate ever.)

by Cherusha  
Rated: PG, C for Crack  
Word Count: 1640  
Notes: Sparringtonness. Anachronisms, ahoy!

It is a little-known fact to those who would not know it that the seemingly peaceful port of Port Royal stood over one of the most dangerous Hellmouths in the Caribbean. At first, nothing seemed out of the usual: Sure men would stumble home to their wives one night, completely drunk, sometimes acquiring an eyepatch or a parrot or a wooden leg; but no one thought anything of it. "Oh those _boys_," the matronly types would say over patchwork to one another with a knowing sigh. People thought it was a fad. THEY WERE _WRONG!_ Not only were the men now skipping the novelty legs and going straight into "Arrrr!", "Aye!" and "Matey!" pirate lingo, their patchwork sewing wives had turned with them! Can you say pirate wench? Wild debauchery took a flying leap out the discreet, close-curtained bedroom and straight into the streets. Breasts were everywhere! There was pillaging and plundering and drinks for all! The rum merchants could not be more pleased.

(Of course they were less pleased by the fact that all the money they had earned from rum sales was stolen from under their noses by the very same customers who bought them!)

Those unaffected townspeople (who, with each passing day looked to be less and less) huddled in front of the Governor's mansion, demanding protection. Port Royal was on the brink of anarchy. What it needed was a hero. What it needed was a...

"YOU are the Chosen One," said Governor Swann, pointing a long - almost accusatory finger - at Norrington.

Norrington, who was pouring over the numbers of how many "pirates" had been arrested and imprisoned that day (nearly thirty and soon there'd be no more room to put them all), looked up, his brows furrowed in a manner that most everyone in the 21st Century would categorize as WTF.

"Governor, please, this is no time for games. Our prisons cannot contain any more prisoners, and the town certainly cannot contain any more of this... piracy. Hangings are out of the question because each and every one of those pirates were at one time upstanding, respectable citizens."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "Father, this is no time for joke-making." She buried her nose into a mathematics book again (as for some reason - at the same time this entire pirate epidemic took over, come to think of it - she became enamored with maths and sciences and could not wait to pour over all the books. Also, she may be a witch and develop tendencies towards the fairer sex, but that shall not come to pass for a few more years).

The Governor squinted at the letter again. "Yes, yes. But it says here: In every generation there is a chosen one... (ladeda, ladeda ladeda) she alone will stand against the pirates, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer."

"Well, then that clears it," said Norrington, his focus returning to his work. "I'm fairly certain I recognise the identity of my own sex."

Will snickered in the background. For some reason, he found the word 'sex' unbelievably comical and could not wait to make a joke out of it. "Oh yes? Are you a psychic? To know of whom you shall bed?" He swished his sword from left to right, making a kind of bumblebee noise.

"Sparrow never told you what happened to your father," he intoned in a deep voice.

Governor Swann cleaned his spectacles and continued. "Yes, well. Regardless of the confusion in gender, you ARE the Chosen One. And, uh," he squinted again "I am to be your Watcher."

"A watcher?" asked Elizabeth, calculating the square root of pi. "Is that like one of those people who stand out by the docks, waving as the ships go by?"

"No clue," shrugged Governor Swann. "Ah, James. The letter also came with this package." And from it, he produced a small bottle of... water, by all appearances, a cross and a sharp, pointy stick.

"Let's see... you are to carry these items with you at all times when on patrol, and should you come across a pirate, stake them through the heart."

Norrington picked up and looked at the pointy stick dubiously. "Wouldn't that kill them?"

Governor Swann thought for a moment. "Indubitably."

"Oh this is ridiculous," said Norrington, putting the pointy stick back down again. "I have serious matters to attend to."

"Be that as it may, this is a direct order from the Admiralty." The Governor handed the pointy stick back to Norrington. "Why not risk a court martial at a time when we don't need you the most?"

Norrington sighed, long-suffering. "I shall indulge you for one night, and for one night only. If this experiment does not prove fruitful, as I've no doubt it won't, I shall be returning to my regular duties of _protecting_ Port Royal from pirates instead of playing a silly game of make-believe."

"We should call ourselves the Scooby Gang," interjected Will. "No! The Fellowship Gang. The DIVERSION Gang!"

Governor Swann took off his spectacles for the fifth time that night and cleaned them.

Norrington, having agreed to take on this ridiculous assignment, found himself wandering the abandoned streets of lower Port Royal, water in his pocket, cross in one hand, pointy stick in the other. He sighed dramatically. This whole situation was entirely out of order, and he wondered at the state of mental health of the Admiralty these days. As he was contemplating these matters, however, a pirate waving a cutlass suddenly sprung out from behind the bushes and shouted:

"Arrr! Gimme yer booty!"

Norrington was about to pull out his sword and defend when a sudden and strange urge came over his entire being. He lifted his pointy stick, jumped over the pirate, did a backflip from the wall behind and staked him through the heart.

"I'm Norrington, and you're history!" He quipped... for some inexplicable, yet inarguably embarrassing reason. _'I'm Norrington, and you're history'? What was that?_ He sighed and raised his pointy stick again to face the pirate's next move.

But just then, and before his very shocked eyes, the pirate himself groaned out in agony and in the next second exploded into a pile of dust. Astounded, Norrington took a few steps back, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. _Surely this couldn't be real._ He regarded his pointy stick with a new light.

"That's how you kill them. The cursed pirates," said a voice. A familiar voice. A voice that haunted his worst headaches, in fact.

Norrington whipped around and came face to face with Jack Sparrow.

"You."

"Aye, me," said Sparrow, stepping forward into the moonlight. "I want to help you."

"I don't believe that for a second." Norrington raised his pointy stick, eyes narrowing. "You're a pirate," he spat.

"That I am," said Sparrow, stepping closer, but he stopped when Norrington lifted his pointy stick higher as a warning. "I'm a pirate, 'tis true. But of a different kind. Because, y'see," and he finished with a bow, "I have a moral compass now."

Norrington raised an skeptical eyebrow. "As opposed to a compass that doesn't point North?"

"The compass of my HEART, James," said Sparrow, looking a smidgeon upset that he wasn't being taken very seriously.

A snort. "You expect me to believe that you've changed. You're no longer the pirate you used to be?"

Sparrow nodded, attempting to look constipated to show that he was repentant. "Aye. I'm very, very sorry."

Norrington focused him with a cold glare, then pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation when Sparrow returned it with what looked to be... a look of love?

"Sparrow... I don't have time for this-"

"Ah! That's another thing!" Sparrow held up a finger. "I'm no longer Sparrow; I go by 'Angel' now."

Norrington looked at Sparrow and thought the name Angel_hair_ would be a hundred times more appropriate. "There is no way I am calling you by that name, _Sp-arrow._ Ever."

Sparrow creased his brow deeper and hunched his shoulders, looking like someone with an extreme fiber-deficiency problem. "Angel!" he pouted. "And I am so tortured! As there it was!" He made wild gestures with his hands. "The rum. That sweet, intoxicating drink. A pirate's ambrosia, mate. And I resisted! For you."

The man looked so pathetic that Norrington was almost moved to believe. Almost. He sighed. "Fine. You're tortured. What would you like me to do about it?"

"Redemption! For what I've done. What I was. What I--" Sparrow stopped and let an impish grin spread over his face. "Well... I was hoping for a kiss?"

Norrington rolled his eyes. "_Angel._ When I kiss you, I would sooner want to die," he said dryly.

Sparrow shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"As you can see, I am extremely unamused by the attempt."

"Hmmm."

They stood and stared at each other like this, unsure of what to do. A stalemate between enemies that might have continued till morning - and would have - if Sparrow hadn't suddenly leapt across distance and captured Norrington's lips beneath his. The sheer force and impulsiveness of it caused both to take a sharp intake of breath; Sparrow reeled forward while Norrington simply reeled, his back hitting a wall. Probably it was the kind of kiss that would be accompanied by rising orchestral music against a rising yellow sun, but to Norrington it simply felt warm and wet and a little clumsy.

"It'll always be like this, love," breathed Sparrow. "You. Me. A big rock between us. Something just out of reach. Won't ever end, even when one of us stabs the other in the chest."

And with those lasting words, he broke away and disappeared into the darkness.

It wasn't until a minute later that Norrington discovered his sword was missing.


End file.
